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Τρίτη, 25 Μαρτίου 2014

T-4: Ménage a trois, anyone?

It has been a month of bad decisions and choices. I
made some mistakes that have certainly made me feel awful. And I shouldn’t be
feeling bad, because, after all, I am supposed to be on holiday. But that is
almost over now and thankfully I will return to a routine I never expected I would
enjoy as much as I am. That change I made in my life in September paid out. It brought
stability and security. It also brought an increased amount of loneliness, but I
can handle that. I am used to being lonely. It is the hustle and bustle of my
previous lifestyle that I find tiresome and occasionally tedious. It most
certainly is surreal and illogical. I have given up trying to both understand
and explain people’s actions. They do not make sense. They never will. That is
the destiny of Greece. To be overshadowed by its own inability to make sense. It’s
a native kind of thing.

No matter! I will move forward with my list, by
providing an article that should make me feel better (and you, of course, my
devoted readers), because it is a comedy of the most excellent kind and
composed by one of the most intriguing human beings to have graced the face of
this wretched planet. So, without any further ado, I present to you Rossini’s
penultimate opera: Le Comte Ory!

SPOILER ALERT! IF YOU HAVE NOT EXPERIENCED THE JOY AND
HAPPINESS THIS OPERA IS CAPABLE OF PROVIDING, DO SO FIRST. OTHERWISE, I PROMISE
YOU, YOU WILL NOT ENJOY IT AS MUCH…

It was a chance encounter. It was a Rossinian work I had
never heard of before and it was on Greek television. Every Sunday night, the
parliament channel (!) plays operas. Yes, it does! It is one of the few great
things that happen on Greek television. Anyway, this one evening – years ago –
they had the Glyndebourne version from the late ‘90s. For lack of a better
occupation that evening, I sat through the entire thing and never regretted a
moment. The Glyndebourne production (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F3_zvRyjors)
is a good take on the opera. The cast is adequate – with Annick Massis as Adèle
and Diana Montague as Isolier topping the list – for it is an impossible work
for the protagonists to sing and the staging is witty, charming and slightly
bathetic at times, but scores with some typical comic gags that bring out
laughter sure enough. It immediately won my heart and reaffirmed my already deep
affection of Rossini’s work in general.

So, what is it all about? This is the first time that I
begin any article with a praise of a production and not the work itself. It is
necessary, for I kind of like the chance encounter with a hugely amusing work
and it explains why I am so particularly fond of it. Of course there are many
other reasons why I do, but I thought I might start with the less obvious one.

To put it simply: this opera is yet another take on
the Don Juan subject matter. Only, the historical background is placed during
the Crusades and it is the Count of Ory who is chasing after women. And,
because this is Rossini, the opera is turned into a clear comedy – not the
dubious, yet intriguing version of Mozart.

The story is quite simple: the young Count of Ory,
taking advantage of the fact that many women have been left unprotected,
because their husbands have gone to fight the Crusades, scurries the French countryside
in search of potential mates. He has his eye fixed on one in particular: the
Countess Adèle, who is single, but has made a vow not to love anyone until her
beloved brother returns from the Crusades. Adèle is also a very pious and
restrained woman, which makes the temptation for the Count even greater. The
Count however is not alone, because the young nobleman Isolier, who – as it so
happens – is Ory’s page, is also enamored with Adèle (who is his cousin, by the
way, but who cares, it is a tradition in France to sleep with your cousin apparently…)
Isolier is nothing like the Count. He is honorable, trustworthy and he truly
loves Adèle. He does not wish to conquer her for the fun of it. His intentions
are true, unlike Ory’s, who only cares about the sex, not the love. Now, Ory
has taken camp outside of Adèle’s castle and poses as an hermit, successfully seducing
the young girls of the village – because, of course, who would say no to a
hermit, if he claims it is God’s will to go for it! One could write a treatise
about the rather poignant comment this hermit (and the ensuing nun scenes)
disguise makes, in association with everything church associated, but I will
not delve into that. The point is that Isolier is also fooled by Ory’s disguise
and in his attempt to gain the hermit’s help for wooing Adèle, he blurts out
his own plan of entering the castle, namely, that he wants to dress as a nun on
a pilgrimage and ask for shelter in the castle. Ory is mighty pleased with this
idea and promises to help Isolier, at which point we finally meet the Countess,
who comes to meet the hermit. She too is in love with Isolier, though she has
not yet revealed it to him, but finds it impossible to give in to those
feelings, because she swore not to let any man near her heart, until her
brother returns. Ory tells her that it is God’s will that she break her oath.
However, just as the two lovers are about to jump at each other, he also warns
her that Isolier is a page to the notorious Count Ory and therefore probably
not a suitable match. He in turn is discovered by his tutor, who has been on
his trail from the beginning of the opera, and before either man can enter the
castle, they are both left wanting. By the end of the first act, we also learn
that the crusaders are on their way home, but that is obviously not the end of
it.

While the first act takes place in its entirety
outside, the second act is located inside the castle. In typical Rossini fashion
we have a storm (he loved those for some reason) and lo and behold a troop of
nuns comes knocking at the castle door, asking for protection against – whom else?
– Count Ory! Of course the audience knows that it is Ory himself under the
habit and he has brought his tutor, his friend Raimbaud and a number of his
followers (but not Isolier) along. The Countess falls for the trick and gives
them shelter. Ory introduces himself as sister Colette and prepares for a night
of passion. First, he and his men raid (literally) the wine cellar. On the outbreak
of night, Isolier too arrives at the castle, to inform Adèle that Ory’s father
is on his way, along with the crusaders, to the castle. Adèle informs him that
there are nuns in the castle, at which point Isolier realizes it is in truth
Ory and swears to protect Adèle’s honor. What ensues is one of the most
hilarious, possibly the greatest comic scene ever written and most definitely
the only one of its kind. One has to see it, to believe it. Rossini composes a ménage
a trois, like, literally! There is a bed, there is a candle, there is a woman,
a man and a trouser role and there is a lot of sensual music. And action! On
the bed. Multiple orgasms follow, until, at some point, the spell breaks from the
outside, because the crusaders have arrived. Adèle’s honor has been
successfully protected by Isolier, Ory, admitting defeat to his page, has to
flee from his father and the returning crusaders, the long anticipated brother
returns and nothing stands in the way of the two lovers, who can finally enjoy
their love freely and without remorse or guilt.

You can understand, dear reader, that this plot is
filled with buffonic moments. Apart from the obvious sex scene at the very end,
this opera is rife with situational comedy. What is particularly interesting is
the fact, that despite the vulgar theme, it never derails. There is class,
style and even noblesse in it (provided largely in part by Adèle). Even the
wine scene does not bring things down – it does make for a small hole in the
plot, but the plot had to be filled somehow and so that was added.

One has to remember that this was the second to last
opera Rossini composed. After Le Comte Ory
he only composed Guillaume Tell.
He deprived the world of his genius, but the forty operas he did leave behind
are the compensation, even today. Ory was composed for Paris. The libretto is
in French. The music is a strange and often unexpected whole. It is descriptive
of two modes: the direct Italian mode, where everything you say is exactly what
you mean (mainly this dominates the first act) and the subtle French mode,
where you say one thing and mean another (which dominates the second act,
obviously). Also, Rossini was not really inventing anything; he borrowed a
great number of pieces from a previous opera of his and added the rest in
lightning speed.

Rossini did not care about the inconsistencies in this
work. This is also one reason why the opera ends so abruptly and one might even
say with an anticlimax. The most striking
inconsistency is of course the bed scene. It is peculiar that Ory does not
recognize that he is in fact touching – to put it lightly – Isolier and not Adèle
(forget about the fact that Isolier is sung by a woman). This is not the case
of Octavian fooling the Ochs, because in his youthful appearance, he looks
still a bit like a girl. Ory touches Isolier. It is impossible not to sense
that this is a man. But, once again, this is opera, and it is this acceptance of
the surreal in this case that makes it work out so fantastically well. That and
the music. Atypically perhaps, Rossini has a master stroke for the sex scene:
instead of pacing it in his usual fast manner, he chooses a brilliant slow
rhythm, a sensual melody with outbursts, combining the three voices of the
soprano, the mezzo and the tenor perfectly together. The music during this
scene breaths slowly and reveals everything. Nothing stays hidden. It is almost
so slow, that it becomes self-absorbed and self-gratifying. It is, in one word,
orgasmic.

Finally, I return to the challenge of producing this
work. The music is extremely challenging, especially for the three main roles.
The tessituras for the soprano and the tenor are high, the demand on agility
and speed obvious, because this is Rossini after all, but most importantly the
chemistry has to sit. The singers need to be good actors with a sense of timing
(the most important thing in comedy) and they have to – at least pretend – to like
each other. The difficulty in the music, the expectations from the singers to
perform and the staging of the bed scene are the main reasons why this
particular opera, although extremely entertaining and fun, is rarely being
taken up by the big houses. Luckily for us, the Met did it a while back and
with an exceptional cast. The staging was also relatively good – I have a
certain dislike towards the idea of a “theatre within the theatre” when we are
not talking about Ariadne auf Naxos –
but it worked just fine. But it is truly the trio of stars that make this
production so satisfying: Juan Diego Flórez, Joyce DiDonato and Diana Damrau
shine in this opera, which seems to have been composed just for them. We are
truly blest with this particular cast in this particular opera and I strongly
recommend you watch it. I have, multiple times! The bed scene is on repeat on
my playlist…